Year 3043 AGD
Month: New Year
Early morning of First Day
Continent of Terroval
City of Safeharbor
Noble District
Nim flowed through the open window on the second floor with the ease of a breeze blowing through a meadow. There was a dog outside, but it hadn’t seen or heard him as he’d entered. It had smelled the two trespassers, of course, but its attention had been distracted by a large chunk of meat that it found while searching the yard. Nim followed the small cloaked intruder through the room. He watched as the figure, whom he assumed to be a gnome or halfling, stared with open admiration at the jewels that were on display. Nim knew this was not the room he wanted, so he slipped out ahead of the would-be thief.
Once, he would have gawked openly at the jewels and other niceties, but he had seen their like many times before now. Not only had he seen them, but he now owned quite a few like them. He had acquired quite a few pieces of property throughout the lands of Terrazil. Most of them had come fully furnished; some even came with a full staff.
While walking through the halls, he did see a few items that he wouldn’t mind having, but Nim had never considered himself a thief—just generally lucky. From time to time, he would take something from an individual he thought untrustworthy or remove something dangerous from someone who couldn’t protect it properly. There were just certain things in the world that some people should never get ahold of. Tonight’s business was one instance of such a dangerous item being owned by the wrong man.
He knew that the manacles he was looking for would be in one of the rooms on the back side of the wing. He could hear the other intruder’s footsteps rather well and knew that it was only a matter of time before someone else did, too. Hearing the door to the room that he had just exited open, he moved against the wall to hide in the shadows of the corridor. The little figure moved into the hallway and checked the door directly across from the first room. Nim watched the shadow quietly open it and slip inside. Still moving down the hall when he heard the door open again, Nim quickly ducked into a corner. It appeared that the little one was done gawking and was now getting down to business.
The next door that the little thief tried was locked, but that didn’t seem to dissuade him. Nim didn’t see any telling movements, but he must have picked the lock because a moment later the door swung open silently on its hinges. When the thief opened the door and slipped in, Nim followed closely behind this time. The small figure looked around, apparently sensing the movement behind him, but Nim was already moving through the room. The cloaked intruder shrugged as if telling himself that it was just his imagination.
The room was lined with ancient armors and weapons, some of which Nim had neither seen nor heard of before. He knew the owner of the mansion was quite the collector, but he hadn’t understood just how much of an obsession it was for the man until now. He saw armors that were made out of bone, wood, rock, and various other elements that armor was rarely made from. There were swords, daggers, axes, and hundreds of other blades of all shapes and sizes. Some of the items gleamed as if they had never been used, but he could tell by their design and craftsmanship that many of them were too old to have maintained that luster even with the best of maintenance. From this, he garnered that some, if not all, of these had to have been manipulated by master Shapers or clerics. He also knew that anyone with a collection like this would likely be able to afford the best security for it.
The little thief stood transfixed by the displays; however, Nim noticed that he wasn’t only looking. Just as the little man was about to touch one of the weapons, Nim grabbed his arm. The thief let loose an unmanly squeal, and Nim got down on one knee so that he could be at almost eye level with the obviously inexperienced burglar. The noise cut off immediately, and he could feel the thief’s eyes peering at him intently from the darkness within the hood.
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Nim would get such a reaction from someone seeing his eyes for the first time. In fact, his hair and skin, were anyone to look closely enough, would also elicit similar results. He was used to people fearing him for things beyond his control, but that didn’t mean that it ever got any easier. But all of the various reactions Nim’s features had elicited throughout his life could not have prepared him for what was to come next.
“Those… are… the neatest eyes I have ever seen!” It came out in a moderately high-pitched squeal containing an enthusiasm easily associated with a gnome or a halfling. What he heard, though, was a voice that was unlikely to have come from either.
“You’re just a kid?!” Nim’s incredulity as he threw back the thief’s hood was apparent in his voice. The boy that appeared from those depths possessed grey eyes and hair of a golden color that Nim had rarely seen outside the company of elves. He noticed the child’s ears were slightly pointed and guessed that he must have an elven relative somewhere in his family tree.
“Hey, don’t change the subject. Are those real? Did a wizard give them to you? Can I get a pair? If they are real, are you a Dracairei? What did Shaylyn call those… hey, doesn’t that mean you…”
“First of all,” Nim said before lowering his voice, “we weren’t exactly invited in here, so lower your voice. Secondly, slow down, kid. You ask a lot of questions.”
The two of them just stood there staring at each other. Anyone looking in may have mistaken them for one of the displays at that moment. It didn’t last as long as Nim might have liked before the boy started asking more questions.
“Are you going to eat me?” the lad whispered, more inquisitive than afraid.
“No.” Nim shook his head ruefully. “You’re much too skinny. Anyway, we don’t have time for this right now. Don’t touch anything. I’m surprised you haven’t triggered an alarm already. My only guess is that the items themselves are so well guarded that they don’t feel the need to place any in the room, so our best bet is not to touch anything.” He noticed that the boy still had the same look on his face as when he’d begun asking questions. “Save your questions for later.”
“Okay,” the kid replied, obviously not thrilled with the idea of waiting to have his questions answered but disciplined enough to let it drop for now.
With a bit of mutual reluctance and many questions still hanging in the air between them, they tore their gazes away from each other. It was obvious by the way each of them would stop every few feet and look at the other that neither would leave the other alone until he had his answers. Nim’s usually graceful movements were slightly stilted, as if his body were as confused as his mind, and Victor knew that the appearance of the man in the room with him would either bode ill or make for an interesting night.
It didn’t take long for the two of them to make their way through the collection. Soon, Victor’s attention was usurped by one of the display cases against the far wall. He had found his prize. Nim noticed the boy stop and stepped over to see what he had found. Inside the case were the manacles that he had set out to find this night. He had found his prize. Without a second thought, both of them began their work.
Nim focused his will into his retinas, changing them slightly so that they could see the energies put out by items that had been influenced by Shaping. As the change occurred, the room suddenly became brighter to his vision. He had never seen so many items of varying degrees of power packed so closely together outside of a battlefield. Power radiated off of just about everything in his line of sight. Two emanations in front of him were much stronger than the rest, one of them blindingly so. That stronger one was radiating outward from the boy, but it didn’t take long before Nim’s eyes began to protest against the head-piercing light. From the short look he had been able to take, he could almost swear that the energy had the feel of four separate—and extremely powerful—Shapers about it; however, the three strongest energies felt like they belonged to the child, while the fourth felt like it was trying to contain the other three for some reason.
Nim almost let out a sigh of relief when the boy knelt down and began to rummage through his pack, as it let him focus on the object that had been in front of him. He knew immediately that his information was accurate. The manacles had been made with a malicious intent. After studying the energy for a moment, he concluded that they had been made to repress the wearer’s will and to block a Shaper from being able to sense the flow of the universe around them. The idea sent a chill down his spine. He was not a strong Shaper by any means, but he knew that losing that connection would be just as bad as suddenly losing one of his other six senses.
Getting to the manacles could be a problem, for the case containing them gave off an energy that made it clear that it had been Shaped. From the feel of it, there were two effects. If someone who was not supposed to were to touch the case, the first would trigger and manipulate what he assumed was some sort of alarm in another room. Should the case be opened in any way, the second effect would seek out anyone in the room and electrocute them.
Victor located the scroll case Ol’ Man Walkins had placed in his pack earlier that night. He quickly removed the stopper from the end of the case and slid out the scrolls. He liked scrolls; they were a brilliant use of Shaping, in his own, humble opinion. They were also a complicated piece of work. The idea was that the Shaper would place his will towards the creation of an effect. The hard part was that—at the exact moment the effect was fully realized inside the Shaper’s mind—he would need to bend his will towards making sure that the universe understood that even though he was willing it to happen, he did not wish it to happen at that exact moment. Once it was clear to the particles that they had been brought together to perform their set purpose but were not yet supposed to create the effect until given permission, the Shaper would coax them into assuming a shape of his choosing until that permission was given. Any object could be made from such a Shaping, but it was usually easier and more manageable to have it take the form of paper or vellum.
In this way, a Shaper could create an effect to be used at a later date so that they did not exhaust themselves all at once, or so that the effect could be triggered by any Shaper with a basic understanding of that effect. As soon as a sufficiently trained mind triggered it, the item would dissipate and reform into the originally desired effect. Having done their work, the particles then usually resumed their places in the universe, waiting to be called upon again—unless the desired effect required them to take a new shape or was so dire that it ripped them apart and sent the pieces out to be absorbed by whatever grabbed hold of them.
He now held two such scrolls, created by a mind more disciplined than he could even imagine his being at this point in life. He could feel the particles that formed the paper, waiting patiently to become that which they were brought together to become. In this case, that effect was to attempt to overpower and scatter the effects created by another Shaper. He unrolled one of the scrolls and bent his will to understanding the effect contained within and guiding its release.
Nim quickly realized what the young thief was doing when he pulled the scroll case out of his pack. He could feel the intent of the scrolls from where he was standing behind the boy. He could see the pent-up energy waiting to be released and could tell that whomever had created the scroll was a more proficient Shaper than the one who had trapped the display case. All it took to dissipate or change the effects created by another Shaper was having a focus and will greater than theirs. There were, of course, social stigmas attached to interfering with another Shaper’s creations outside of battle conditions without their permission, but that didn’t usually stop a Shaper from creating an item that could do just that.
The longer one worked with the essence of the universe, the better they became at manipulating it to their will. Many more factors were involved, of course—innate intellect, discipline, and strength of will, to name a few—but that in itself was a part of the nature of the universe. All of this had been the topic of one of his many discussions with his good friend, Zander—a conversation from which Ashur had excused himself halfway through, complaining of a headache.
Victor felt a moment of elation as he managed to release the effect from the scroll and the momentary exchange as the energy from it overpowered the opposing energy contained in the case. He hadn’t been able to tell what effects were on the case. If he had touched it or been comfortable enough to get much closer, he may have been able to figure it out, but he figured it wasn’t really important anyway. Shaylyn had told him that he would be better able to feel the effects’ purposes from farther way the more he grew and worked with the power.
Shortly after he felt confident that there was nothing else on the case for him to worry about, he realized he was not alone in his pursuit. “Hey, these are mine. I saw them first.” Victor glared as well as he could manage.
“Kid, believe me… you want nothing to do with these manacles,” Nim said.
“Why not?”
“Because bad men want those manacles, and I plan to stop them from getting them.” Nim stood still for a moment, wondering why he felt the need to explain anything to a kid.
“Will you stop talking to me like I’m a child?” Victor said as he put the remaining scroll back into its case and placed it in his pack.
“You are a child!” Nim yelled. He realized that it may have been a bit too loud when the dogs started barking.
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“Now look what you did,” Victor chided, opening the case and grabbing the manacles. They were heavier than they looked, and he was glad that nothing fried him when he touched the things. The manacles were halfway to his pack when Nim intercepted them, placing them in the pouch at his side. “Hey!”
“Follow me if you want to get out of here with all of your skin… and try to keep up.”
Victor focused on his legs and lower back for a moment, adding strength so that he wouldn’t fall behind. As with any such change to an organic structure, the effects would wear off once the body got tired of the interloping cells. Shaylyn once said that it was possible to change something and keep it that way, but you would have to change its organic blueprint, the one that all living things contain; apparently, it was much harder to do than it sounded. He ran into the hallway and saw Nim’s back as he entered the room Victor had started out in. Victor barely made it into the room before he had to stop quickly or run into the man.
Nim looked down at him. “We are going to have to jump. Can you do it?”
Victor thought about it for a second before nodding.
“Okay, kid. I hope you’re right because I would hate to have to carry you through the yard because of a broken leg.” Taking the boy at his word, Nim ran to the open window and dived out headfirst.
By the time Victor got to the window, Nim was already on the ground, running and looking back to make sure he was following. Not thinking himself dexterous enough to perform such an acrobatic leap, he decided to keep it simple. He swung his legs out of the window and dropped. The impact was more than he had expected, but with his legs and back enhanced, he recovered quickly. He was only a couple of seconds behind Nim, and he made that time up by not having to climb the fence like the man had to.
Shouts from the manor could be heard telling the dogs to shut up, and lights were being lit throughout the building. Victor thought he felt a tug on his boot as he squeezed through the bars, but he didn’t look back to see what had tried to stop him. As they neared the alley where Shawnrik was supposed to be waiting for him, he saw his friend running around a corner two streets down with a man in black.
Victor and Nim were already several blocks away when they began to hear the horns of the city watch. It meant that a member of the watch was requesting assistance from any other watch members in the area. Victor knew it wouldn’t be long before they began hunting for the two of them, but he thought they were far enough ahead to not get caught. It would take the watchmen a few minutes to find out that something had been stolen and where they had entered and exited. By the time the dogs were chained up and put on the trail, it would be hard for them to distinguish the smells within the city’s alleys.
It would most likely take at least until morning to get a Shaper to the manor. By then, everything except the part of the wall he’d climbed would have lost all memory of their brief contact. He didn’t believe the wall would be a problem, either; the parts he had come into contact with had blown away as dust. Victor felt sorry for anyone they caught in the alleys tonight but figured most would either be let go quickly or deserve to be caught for one thing or another.
Even with enhanced legs, it only took half an hour for Victor to fall behind. Noticing this, Nim lightened their pace. Victor still had to run to keep up, but he didn’t have to sprint anymore. Nim took them on a path leading through the Noble District and the Hall of the One God—a large open area that also contained the temples for the Gods of Terrazil—and into the Market District, near the Protectorate Grounds.
Victor was nearly to the point of exhaustion when the man finally stopped at The Dragon’s Nest. The place was of newer construction than many buildings in Safeharbor and had the distinction of being near the junction where the Market District, Protectorate Grounds, Docks District, and Civilian Sector met. The Dragon’s Nest was too nice to be called a tavern and yet too rowdy and active at all hours of the morning to be called an inn. Most people, when asked to describe it, would look at you for a moment and say, “It’s… well… it’s The Dragon’s Nest.” Tired as he was, Victor knew he probably should not go into such a place looking like himself, so he pulled his hood up and paused for a moment, using the last of his reserves to change his form into that of a gnome before following Nim in.
Nim sauntered up to the bar, obviously comfortable in the place, and looked at the man whom Victor was pretty sure was the owner of it. “Hey, barkeep, get off your butt and get me ale!” Nim said in a voice slightly lower than his usual one.
The barkeep spun around, glass in hand like he was about to throw it at whomever it was who had the audacity to order him around like that in his own place. When he noticed who it was, his posture changed, and a smile lit his face. “Nim, you old scoundrel! Could have used you here a few hours ago. The place was packed.”
“I was here a few hours ago, and so was my friend.” Nim gave the man a knowing look. The bartender returned it and then pointed towards Victor inquisitively.
Victor threw back his hood and hopped up onto one of the stools in one smooth motion. “Vic, at your service. Vic Tor’Deus.” His voice had a gravelly quality like that of the gnomes and was much deeper than Victor’s own voice.
Surprised for a moment, Nim finally gave a small chuckle. “I knew something was odd.” The bartender raised an eyebrow, but Nim just waved it away. He held up two fingers and the bartender poured them two ales before they found a seat in a back corner of the room away from the other patrons.
Nim stared at Victor for a minute and then shrugged and shook his head.
“What?” Victor asked.
Nim leaned in, making sure his voice didn’t travel to any unwanted ears. “Which you is the real you?”
Victor understood the shrug and the headshake at that point and couldn’t help but laugh. He thought it a grand idea to play with Nim’s mind a bit. “Now, that is an excellent question! Which me is the real me, hmm? Well, I’ll tell you, I’ve been wondering that for a few years, myself. Then again, when I do figure it out, I’m just going to have more questions: what am I doing here? And who are all these other people? Do any of them show their true selves? Aren’t there things about themselves that everyone keeps hidden? Can we ever really even know if someone is his true self?” Victor was repeating some of the things Shaylyn had said after he had asked his mysterious guardian about herself for what must have been the hundredth time.
Through it all, Nim’s wry smile grew. “You definitely sound like a gnome, but something tells me that the other you is the truer you.”
“Ahh, now, truer me… that’s getting down to the heart of it. We all act like different people in different crowds. One person, I might be rude to. Another, I might be as sweet as a kitten to. Some people, I will be strict with, and some, I’ll let get away with more things than I would let anyone else get away with. You see, the only way to be your true self is to be completely alone, so really neither of the forms you’ve seen is my true self.”
“Wow, that’s too deep for this early in the morning. How about this. How old are you?” Nim quested, his gaze foggy as he processed everything Victor had just said.
“There we are. A much simpler question with a much simpler answer.” Victor leaned in and whispered, “Eight, as of a little after midnight this morning.”
Nim burst out laughing so loudly that the few people in the common room stopped to stare. He waved apologetically at them, and, after a few moments, they went back to their drinks. “Is Vic your real name?”
“Is Nim yours?” Victor retorted.
“Fair enough, Vic Tor’Deus. Now, tell me a little about yourself, and I’ll tell you a little about me.”
∞∞∞
Their conversation went on for quite some time, continuing as they left The Dragon’s Nest and meandered through the city streets. Victor realized they were heading to a part of town that he had yet to explore in any guise. Called Cliff’s End, it was the most beautiful part of the city in many ways and was where the top tier of the Protectorate’s social class lived. There were only five villas nestled on the top of the cliff, three of them owned by the royal house. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, welcoming the New Year, and Victor thought that the slow lighting of the sky from the east on such a crisp, winter morning gave the cliff a surreal quality.
“What are we doing now?” he asked for what was probably the fifth time. The changes to his appearance had started dissipating shortly after they had left The Dragon’s Nest, telling Victor that he was even more tired than he thought.
“I told you. We are going to my house.” Nim’s voice only had a hint of exasperation.
“Yeah, but why are we at Cliff’s End?”
“Because that is where I live.”
“Really? Are you a servant?” He tried to make it sound as innocent as possible.
Nim looked at him like he was questioning whether Victor had a full set of wits. “Am I a servant? He asks if I’m a servant… have you seen the clothes I’m wearing?”
Victor hadn’t, really. It wasn’t something he noticed unless he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be and trying to avoid rich people. Nim’s outfit was black at first glance, but it had silver and gold embroidery throughout, and the material it was made of was smooth and shiny. Victor had seen a handkerchief like it once at Ol’ Man Walkins’s, and the old man had said it was called silk. The dagger at Nim’s side had an overly ornate hilt—he thought it looked like it was made from some sort of bone—and was inlaid with rubies. Even the big man’s belt buckle looked as if it was made of platinum.
Victor knew that only the extremely wealthy could own an outfit made from that silk stuff, let alone have a platinum belt buckle; however, he decided he was not finished messing with the man yet and whistled softly before saying, “Wow, that is a nice outfit. You must be the head servant.”
Nim had been strutting like a peacock a moment before, and his grin slipped when the words registered. The boy’s face had the most innocent smile that Nim had ever seen on a humanoid being. He knew the lad must practice it regularly in a mirror. If he hadn’t already realized the boy was sharp, he might have actually believed that he thought he was a servant. “Vic, my friend,” he said with a laugh, “you are a very dangerous person.”
Still holding onto his guileless expression, Victor smiled. “I know.”
That simple statement combined with that look of total innocence made the hairs at Nim’s nape stand up. After another minute of walking, he pointed down the road towards a two-story villa laid out along the cliff’s edge. “That’s my house, Vic—one of the best I’ve got.”
The house itself was beautiful. Four columns lined the front entrance. Its entryway alone was larger than most of the houses in the Docks District. Every window on the first floor had a box containing different flowers in full bloom attached to its outside. There were fountains on both sides of the walkway up to the house and several large shrubs cut into the shapes of various animals that Victor had only read about. If not for the winter chill, he would have sworn it was springtime as they started down the walkway. Sitting on what Victor would have called a porch on any other house were two figures who seemed to be sleeping. One appeared to be a well-built man in his prime. The other, Victor recognized.
“Shawnrik!” he yelled.
Shawnrik awoke with a start, looking around like he didn’t know where he was before he saw who had called his name. “Victor! You’re alive! Ashur said you would be.”
“Yeah, I did. Now, can everyone quit yelling?” the man Shawnrik had referred to as Ashur said before taking the pillow from behind his head and dropping it on his face, mumbling, “Accursed sun!”
Meanwhile, Nim mouthed the name Victor quietly to himself and shrugged.
“He seems a cheery sort. Of course I’m alive, but I had to keep waiting for this guy all night. I tell you what… if it hadn’t been for me, he would have never gotten out of there.” Victor pointed at Nim, which caused the man to start laughing again.
Ashur’s head shot up, pillow falling to the ground. “Wait a second. Was that a laugh? An actual laugh? Not a maniacal chuckle or even a halfhearted guffaw?”
Victor looked at Ashur curiously. “Yeah, he’s been doing that all night.”
Ashur pretended like he was fainting. “Kid, if you can make him laugh, you’re hired.” He looked up at Nim. “I haven’t heard you laugh since Erin left. She could always make ya laugh. Remember the time—”
“I think that’s enough reminiscing for right now, Ashur,” Nim said, his chipper mood suddenly soured. “Why don’t we all go inside and get some rest. We can talk later this afternoon.”
The two boys looked at each other and then at Nim before asking in unison, “Us? Stay here?”
Nim looked at them, his mood lightening a bit once again. He chuckled. “Yes, you can stay here, but you two really must take a bath before getting into one of my beds, and I have to get you both into better clothing. Ashur, why don’t you tell the tailor to meet us on the back veranda at mid-afternoon?”
“Yes, sir,” Ashur said with a mock salute, and then, in total sincerity, he walked up to taller man and put a hand on his shoulder. “And might I say that it is good to hear you laugh again.” He ducked as if Nim were about to swing at him and left to find the tailor.
“The maids should be up. I’ll have them draw you boys a bath. They can even wash you if you’d like.” Nim watched both of them go as red as ripe tomatoes. “No? Oh well, I’m sure they’re probably busy anyway. Just remember that I gave you the opportunity.” He walked up to the door, pulled out a key, and unlocked it. “Gentlemen, welcome to my home.”
He opened the door, and the boys suddenly found themselves breathless. Victor had seen quite a few mansions in his exploits, but he had never seen an entryway quite like the one at Nim’s villa. A staircase on both sides of the entrance led up to the next level with a balcony that could probably hold fifty people comfortably. The floors were polished, blue marble, and a giant chandelier hung from the glass-domed ceiling. It appeared to be crystal, with rubies and sapphires sparkling throughout. There was a statue of a giant cat, looking regal standing over its fallen prey. In front of the statue, there stood an older gentleman in a black suit. Directly behind him were three women in black and white maid uniforms. The man bowed, and the three women curtsied in unison.
“Good morning, Master Nim. I see we have guests.” He looked at the boys with reproach. Victor thought that it might be the man’s usual look. “So, we are bringing home street urchins now, sir? Isn’t Master Ashur bad enough, sir?” He quirked a brow, his well-trimmed mustache—its color now greyer than the brown it once was—twitching.
Nim took the man’s attitude in stride, as if they had had this conversation many times before. “Thank you for the greeting, Bartholomew. This is Victor and Shawnrik. They will be staying with us for a while.” He pulled the manacles out of his pack and handed them to Bartholomew. “Put these in the safe room.”
“Very well, sir,” Bartholomew said, his tone dry. “Lia and Megan, why don’t you go draw these young men a bath.”
The two young women moved towards the boys. They were clearly half-elven twins, both rather striking. As far as the boys could tell at that moment, the girls were identical except for the ribbons in their long, red hair. Their elven features were apparent throughout; each had long limbs, pointed ears, and green eyes. Victor thought they couldn’t be a day over sixteen, if that.
“Shawnrik, please do close your mouth,” Nim said, a grin on his face.
The one with the blue ribbon in her hair walked up to Victor. “Hi, I’m Lia.”
“I’m Megan,” the other said, throwing a quick smile to her sister. Her ribbon matched her eyes.
The lads followed the two girls sedately, grinning like idiots.
As the twins led the boys up to their rooms, Nim walked up to the third woman. “Jenn, why don’t you find out who our little friends work for. I’m fairly certain that the little one is named Victor Deus, and the other one is Shawnrik, no last name given. They live in the Docks District. See if you can get the girls to coax it out of them through some lighthearted conversation. I think they will be nervous enough to get some information out of.”
She looked at him, her piercing blue eyes displaying a keen intellect. She had a grip on the long, blonde hair that flowed over her left shoulder. Intelligence was not the only thing shining in those eyes; they also possessed a deep admiration—one that would be apparent to anyone who bothered to look at that moment—for the man in front of her. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell the girls while they are getting the boys some towels, and I’ll head straight to the Docks afterward. You should have an answer by early evening.”
Left alone in the foyer, Nim looked up at the sculpture he himself had made of a lion standing over a deer. That’s what he thought of himself as: an artist. Whether he was creating something or dabbling in politics, finances, or martial activities, he was an artist.
He thought about Victor and the potential he saw in him, about how he could mold him for his own uses. Nim had no malicious intent; it was just that he had learned long ago that you had to use people sometimes to get ahead in the world. It wasn’t like the boy wouldn’t benefit in the exchange. He would teach Victor all that he knew about politics and finances, but he would also mold him into his own personal weapon. It was just the way that Nim’s mind worked. Besides, if Victor was who he thought he was, it was his right. She had said he would be one of his teachers.
Feeling exhausted from the night’s outing, Nim went up to bed. In his dreams that night, a lion stood poised over a deer, ready to deliver the final blow. It was not the first time he’d had such a dream. He was just glad that tonight he was the lion.